The BBW and the Beast: A Shifter Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 1) (5 page)

A
s November melted into December
, so did the snow, allowing Samson and Rex to go hunting for Luther more frequently. It was a stretch to call it hunting, though. They hadn’t found so much as a track in weeks. Samson knew Rex was beginning to question the point of it all, but for Samson, even if they never found Luther, the point was very clear.

Avoid Isabella.

Now that he had tasted her, keeping his distance was proving hard – even with his newfound realization that forcing the issue would only drive her farther away.

She would have to come to him.

For her part, Isabella spent most of her time in his collection room, fiddling with her laptop and taking pictures of his carvings. It would be sad to see some of them go, but it was worth it to buy time to impress her. And he could always buy them back at triple the price if need be.

His strategy of winning her over had to be done with stealth. If she got so much as a whiff of his real intentions, she’d run. Since stealth was far from being Samson’s strong suit, he relied, to his annoyance, on Rex’s advice.

Some of Rex’s ideas had been foolish. For example, rescuing a stray puppy and giving it as a gift to Isabella. Isabella didn’t even like dogs, Samson had found out.

Other ideas were extreme, such as sending their family’s personal doctor to do a “pro bono” checkup on Isabella’s father to ensure that the sick smell Samson had scented on him all those weeks ago was only a mild flu. (It was.)

Samson actually appreciated one or two, such as buying Isabella a new computer and installing a higher-speed Internet connection for the house.

He hated the Internet, but Isabella’s squeal of joy when she discovered that she wouldn’t have to reset the router every five minutes – whatever that meant – made it worthwhile. Not to mention that with the faster connection, she completed her work earlier each day. The few times that Samson allowed himself to talk with her, she was free.

The conversations were torture.

Not because she was boring. Far from it. Every day Bel managed to find some new insight into the house or explain the history of one of the trinkets she had found in the storage room. The way she saw the world was fascinating. Perhaps because saw wasn’t the quite the right word. Imagined was closer, although not quite right either.

It was strange. Samson was a creature most humans would’ve considered magical, if monstrous. Yet he had never felt that way
.
Bel, however, was able to sniff out mystery at every corner. After explaining excitedly, hands flapping, that some of the old cellars of 18th century farmhouses had artifacts from Native American sorcerers, she went spelunking in the dark basement. Hours later she emerged with a pebble she saidan arrowhead used as markers for the sometimes mile-long burial architectural spells. She was so sure for a moment he almost believed that sorcerers were real.

But every werebeast knew the portals to the real magical land, Astrum had been sealed millennials ago. Any magic besides shifting had long since died out.

The irony was, the magic that was real, him, Bel seemed completely oblivious to. Once she plucked his first edition copy of
Beasts, Blood and Bonds
, and read it aloud to him, reveling in correcting all of her previous misconceptions about his kind. She even moaned how unfortunate it was that they were all extinct, although there was always a strange twinkle in her eye when she did. Perhaps, there was some sadness in a dream coming true. In some ways, magic could only be magic if it wasn’t real.

Still Samson, too, found himself opening up. He told her about growing up with a rich, often absent father who was so determined to provide a life of security and safety for his sons he accidentally created one of the top hedge funds in the US which Rex now managed, and about how much his mother had loved to garden. He was always careful never to reveal the truth about their previous meeting or his animal nature. The former would be something she’d have to admit to herself, and the latter he wouldn’t bother telling her about until after they had been officially mated.

And oh, how he wanted to mate her.

It didn’t matter how innocuous their meetings were; their attraction was like an exposed wire. The closer he got to her, the more impossible it became to not touch.

Their last meeting had been particularly unbearable; she was showing him the latest mockup for the site and how to change the product descriptions when he entered the wrong password for the third time. Frustrated, she had bent over him and pecked it out quickly herself.

In that second, her breast had brushed against his chest. Her skin was so soft. Samson had shuddered, his cock instantly erect. When she began to draw back after she had completed her task, he had shot out a hand to bar her way without thinking.

Open desire had glimmered in her dark brown eyes as she leaned toward him, the power of the bond finally overriding her common sense and forcing her body to bend to his needs.

Instantly, Samson had retreated.

They were both worked up after that, their breathing the only sound in the stuffy collection room.

That was when Samson had excused himself to go hunting.

But after four hours and the end of twilight, he knew he had to return. So he stared at the door, ashamed at his reluctance to enter his own home.

I’m a wolf, goddammit, not a mouse.

He stamped off his shoes on the welcome mat – one of the few home-making additions Isabella had made succesfully – and entered.

Immediately, he was assaulted by the scent of roasted vegetables. Zucchini, to be precise. Samson decided he wouldn’t disturb Isabella’s cooking. They hadn’t been in the dining room together at all since that disastrous dinner.

He was just beginning to walk to his room when he heard her footsteps from a few rooms over. He had plenty of time to get up the stairs before their paths collided. Still flushed from tracking Luther, he knew that would be the wisest course.

But being wise was exhausting.

“Oh, there you are. I wasn’t sure when you’d get back!”

Isabella was standing in the doorway, smiling at him, a cooking spoon in her hand. She was wearing one of the dresses he had bought for her.

It looked even better than Samson had imagined it would. Tight and yellow, it clung to her chest, her breasts practically threatening to tear it to pieces. Its white lace hem flirted with the tops of her deliciously thick thighs, and although some kind of belt was looped around her middle, Samson knew it would only take him a second to rip it to shreds. A claw threatened to emerge from his finger for just that purpose.

“I made dinner,” she said, waving the spoon enthusiastically, making her chest jiggle. “Wanna join me?”

He swallowed down a mouthful of saliva. “You’re wearing a dress.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bel said, her smile even brighter. “I never said thank you for the clothes. They were for me, right? I hope I didn’t steal your sister’s clothes, or something.” She did a little twirl, giggling.

Gods and demons. What had gotten into her? He thought he could see a flash of her underwear as her hem rose up. It was striped.

She leaned against the wall, a little winded from the motion. “Sorry, I’m a little goofy. I just wanted to say thanks for all you’ve done. The internet, the doctor for my dad –“ She waggled the cooking spoon at him. “I found out about that, by the way!” Her hand slipped on the wall.

Samson sniffed the air, searching for the tang of alcohol. She must’ve drunk some of his scotch. But his investigation backfired, and he got a mouthful of her distinctive perfume instead. It was warm and dry as always, but also had a note of floral sweetness that made him want to lick up her thighs, straight to her center.

She noticed him sniffing and said, “Smells good, right?”

Samson grunted. His brain was having trouble forming words, given that all of his blood was currently in his cock.

“Let’s go eat, then!” And Bel trotted off toward the kitchen.

Samson followed her, trying his best not to give in to the temptation to stalk her down, pin her against the wall, and show her what happened when you teased a werewolf.

W
hat am I doing
?

It was a question that had entered Bel’s head with more and more frequency over the past couple of weeks.

It didn’t help that Samson was being so nice. Every time she turned around, he seemed to be doing something subtly kind. Some acts seemed staged – such as the rescued puppy. She could tell every time he looked at it that he wasn’t a fan of the dog. To be honest, she wasn’t a pet person either. She always found their obedient domesticity sad. They had both been grateful when the dog’s owner came to claim it.

But the fact that Samson seemed to be trying to be good was heartening enough, and her suspicion that Samson might be putting on a show for her was more intoxicating than any scotch. Her father calling to say it was very nice of her to send over a doctor for a checkup and Rex confirming that Samson had been behind the visit was the final straw.

That was when she decided that maybe it was time to give Samson another chance. If he wanted to take it. And judging by the look on his face across the kitchen table, he very much did.

Bel pushed around some of the roasted zucchini on her plate – her own private joke – and sighed. “Sorry about the lack of protein.”

“You’re a vegetarian,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect it.”

“Actually, my problem is more that I had to cook with the groceries I had left.” She held up her fork like a sword and hoisted it upwards. “Unfortunately, I can’t go out and bag my own deer.”

Samson grunted once, his eyes focused on his plate. He hadn’t eaten a bite.

“Don’t like vegetables, huh?”

He looked over at her, his brow furrowed, like he was in complete agony. There were two explanations for the expression, Bel decided. One, he really, really hated vegetables; or two, he really, really liked her and was trying his best not to do anything about it.

“Come on. Just give them a try.” Bel speared a slice of zucchini and offered it to him. She was glad she had chosen the kitchen table; the formal dining room table would’ve been too big to lean across.

He didn’t seem to notice the zucchini. Instead, his gaze flicked down the top of her dress.

She pressed the zucchini to his lips. “I promise it’s tasty.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The secret is lots of butter!”

“Isabella.” His eyes darkened, and he gently pushed away the zucchini. “Step away from me.”

Bel scooted back immediately. Oh, God.

She had taken his kindness as his trying to win his way into her good graces, but the truth was, he was probably just being nice to apologize to her for getting drunk and accidentally molesting her. Despite all of her self-assurances, she still felt a familiar certainty that no man this attractive could actually want her. She wasn’t like Cynthia. Guys didn’t make-out with her in parties in High School, they stole her journal and read aloud her fantasies for a laugh.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned and brushed them away before they could actually fall.

I’m an idiot.

When she resurfaced, Samson regarded her curiously. “If you had stayed that close to me, it wouldn’t have been safe.”

Bel fought the temptation to fling her plate of zucchini in his face. “Safe? What are you, a wild animal?”

His eyes glimmered. “That may be a good way to think about it. I have a limited amount of control.”

“You’ve gotten much better at not throwing mugs.” Bel shrugged, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t know zucchini could piss you off that much.”

“That’s not the kind of control I’m talking about,” he said roughly.

“Oh?” Bel said, suddenly feeling as light as helium and slightly disconnected from her body.

He really does like me.

“Look at me, Isabella.” Even though his voice was no more than a gravelly whisper, it still resonated through the kitchen, through her bones.

Bel met his gaze and was startled by the intensity in his green eyes. Those eyes didn’t just promise a few sweet kisses. Those were fuck-me eyes.

“I’ve tried to respect your personal space. And I’ve succeeded, but if you come near me again tonight, I’m going to take you.” Without glancing down at his plate, he scraped a zucchini onto his fork and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it once and swallowed. Then he dropped his fork. “You’re right, the zucchini is delicious.”

“T-take me,” Bel stammered.

He smiled at her, the first smile she had seen from him in weeks. Keeping his desire for her secret had cost him, she realized. And now that he was finally being honest with her, some part of him had been set free. He seemed lighter, lithe, and ready to strike.

“Yes,” he said, completely conversationally. “I’m going to steal you from that chair right there, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you to my bedroom. Then I’ll lay you down on the bed and take you, hard and fast.” He sniffed the air like he was taste-testing a new bottle of scotch. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it.”

Bel was paralyzed, feeling like she should leave, but knowing somehow that she wouldn’t. That whatever happened tonight, she wouldn’t run away. Not from her feelings and not from him.

He stood up, the wood of the stump chair moaning against the hardwood floors as he pushed it backward. “Now” – he motioned to the doorway – “if you’d like to leave, Isabella, you’re welcome to. I won’t stop you, but if you stay, the only promise I can make is that you won’t be leaving this room in any way but over my shoulder.”

What am I doing?

Bel stood up too, and she watched with a strange kind of satisfaction as he flinched. He didn’t want her to go. He needed her badly. She straightened her shoulders, her nervousness falling away.

He was counting on her being afraid so he could feel as if he had control. He should’ve tried a different strategy.

She sashayed around the table, making sure to sway her hips as she did. Then, gingerly, she laid a hand on his chest. “Oops.” She tilted her head, making sure that it gave him a glimpse of her shoulders and the cleavage beneath.

He stood completely still for a moment, silent, and Bel wondered if he was going to do anything at all. She shook her head and started to move her hand away, but his hand shot out and captured her own. Then, before Bel could even process it, he was levering her over his shoulder in some kind of weird judo move.

Bel meeped in surprise. Just how strong was he?

She meeped again when his other hand made contact with her butt, toying with its full cheeks. Then he adjusted her so that his mouth was right near her ear and said, “I never break my word.”

Anxiety and desire drained all coherency from Bel until all she could do was say, “Mmm.” There was no denying it; she was in his hands now. Literally and figuratively. She’d probably have to buy new panties tomorrow. These were now officially soaked.

Samson turned and kicked the kitchen door open. Bel assumed he’d set her down, but no; he managed to haul her up a full flight of stairs and down yet another hallway that Bel didn’t remember existing, until they were standing in front of a dark, tall door Bel had never seen before.

Her head pounded with blood, but she kept her eyes open. Each time she closed them, the strangest fantasies flitted through her head. The man who had kissed her in the greenhouse all those years ago with Samson’s face, Samson as a wolf, Samson, Samson, Samson. She knew none of the visions was true, but she didn’t mind.

Somehow he had infiltrated every part of her: her mind, her body, and now, she realized as she stared at the door, her heart.

This time Samson didn’t kick in the door, but rested his hand on the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Bel replied.